National Magic
by FallenNiji
Summary: Several nations have been invited to go to Hogwarts under mysterious circumstances. After all, there is a little magic in everyone. Currently drabbles, will turn to longer chapters with plot eventually.
1. Letters from someone, England

**_I'm bored and sick so I've started a small drabble series. Don't worry, the chapters will get longer soon enough. And have more plot (when I finally think of it). This is during Harry's third year, so yay~ Hope you enjoy!_**

 ** _I do not own Harry Potter or Hetalia_**

* * *

 _Magic._

 _What do you think of when you here this word? Some would say wand waving wart-faces witches, while others cauldrons filled with questionable liquid. The young and bright minded would even say animals with wings and tails and abilities one could only dream of._

 _Yes, well, I suppose all that IS magic._

 _But magic, in a wider sense, is everything around you; everything the light touches to everything the darkness caresses. It is in every little happy experience, in every sadness that you feel. Magic is everywhere; after all it's like and death and everything between and after. Magic is everything and nothing._

 _And, of course, magic is in the land and its people. The land where folk of old cast spells and did rituals that fed the land with their own magic. So is it such a surprise when the personifications of these lands have magic too?_

 _Yes, all of us do. Some less than others, some more._

 _For example, in my younger days I met many nations much like me, who wielded magic. One of which, to my surprise, was S—_

England let the book fall shut with a sigh. The Brit glanced at the window and stood up, shuffling over to the shelf to place the book — diary really — back in its place. If, God forbid, Scotland or one of his brothers came around and saw it out of place they would surely have his hide and magic.

He shuddered. That was NOT a good memory.

He sat back down in his chair with a sigh. He picked up his Earl Grey tea, taking a sip.

His mind went back to the diary and he pondered upon those words. If what was written was the truth — which he didn't doubt it was — it would mean that EVERY nation had magic. Yes, over two hundred 'people' had magic alone. But that didn't mean it was a good thing.

Some of those nations, which he could name off the top of his head, weren't exactly... The most discreet when it comes to their abilities. It's still a wonder how America hadn't revealed he was a nation to those nosy citizens of his yet. They could be bloody terrifying when looking for a scoop!

He sighed.

But yes, it would be a mess if someone like America used their magical powers unknowingly in, let's say, the middle of a busy New York street.

"Utterly disastrous I'd say!" He snorted. "That idiot would probably go off babbling how he was a real superhero! Dear God, how did I raise him into THAT?" The nation, disgusted with his former charge, shook his head and took a sip of tea.

And then there were the nations like Russia who would... Well, England didn't really know what the large nation would do, but surely it would be bad. Right? Yes, of course. Bad. For all England knew, Russia could accidentally use a Curse on America.

Not that England would mind that much, but Alfr—Anerica was important to his economy and political alliances. It would do no one any good if he suddenly went off and died on them. Besides, the President might just blame HIM! It was a well know fact that England knew magic. (Even if some chose not to believe it...)

His mind wandered over to Sealand and the other micronations. Did they have magic too? He doubted it, because some barely even had a track of land and any citizens. Then again, with a much smaller land would come a much better focus. They were small, so old magic focussed on every inch of them.

From what he read, every part of Earth was coated in a thin layer of what they called magic. Because of that, every nation had a small or large bit of magic in them. However, one needed great focus to use it.

England wasn't as large as a country as Russia or even France, so he had a much better grip on his magic. Smaller land, better focus the book had said. Maybe it was why England hadn't seen Russia preform much magic; he was the largest country so magic was spread all out his country and he didn't have enough Focus to grip it.

He didn't doubt that Russia could learn magic if he tried hard enough, but it would take a great amount of concentration and dedication he doubted the childish man had. At least he was safe in that area...

The blond breathed a sigh of relief.

Micronations like his little brother, on the other hand, had smaller land and could grip the core of their land and focus on their magic much easier. He's actually seen a bit of Sealand's magic, now that he thinks on it. His extreme jumping ability, and his ability to seemingly appear out of thin air...

"Bloody hell!" He groaned and his his face in his hands. He felt a headache coming up. If he told Sealand, that boy would become even MORE unbearable if he learns he was blesses with magic!

He could just imagine it; the brat laughing and waving around a broomstick while shouting "Haha, see that Jerk England? I have magic so you HAVE to recognise my independence now!"

Dear Lord, he wasn't ready for that headache. Not now. Or ever.

A sharp tapping nose brought him out of his thoughts with the force of America's throw. Surprised, England turned to the windows. His eyes scanned them until they landed on the one nearest to the door.

A small, ruffled barn owl gripped the window from the outside. Its eyes were a sharp golden colour, surprisingly, and it appeared to be assessing him. It looked like it had gotten on the wrong side of a windshield and gone out the loser.

Annoyed that he wasn't opening the window, the owl started to repeatedly peck the window in hopes it would break and she could go home.

The magical nation of unicorns, witches and scones hurried flung the window open and grabbed the little bird.

"Don't do that! Do you know how much window glass costs? Wait, of course you don't. You're a bird." He face palmed at his own lapse of stupidity (or what he liked to call, America-ness).

The said bird huffed and pecked at his fingers. Hissing, the former pirate let her go. She flew right back out the window she almost destroyed.

"Good riddance!" He muttered, still annoyed about the glass thing. That's when England noticed the letter she dropped on her way out. So curious as to what they were, the small nation picked them up.

He looked around his study for a paper cutter or something of that sort. After a few minutes of nothing he sighed and just ripped the paper open like an improper heathen with reluctance. Ah, resulting to such rude ways... How low he has fallen.

Curious, he opened the first letter he felt and started to read.

 _Dear Albion, or do you prefer England these day? Or was it Arthur Kirkland?_

 _Never mind that, onto more pressing business. I could go on and on about this and that; all useless information; but instead I'll get right down to the point._

 _Pack all what you find important, and pack for a whole year. I think the other letter enclosed with this one will explain why you should pack for a year._

 _After you are done packing, head to the Leakey Cauldron in London and request the private room from Tom. As you've guessed, magic is involved!_

 _But be warned love. You won't be the only nation there. Your two magic buddies will be as well as a few more eccentric individuals. Most of which who don't know about magic. Have fun explaining~_

 _Also, do NOT tell anyone about this letter or the other one! You are only to discuss this with others who have received letters such as these!_

 _I'll meet you there Love and explain everything!_

 _With love and sincerity,_

 _A person who you know_

More than just a bit weirded out, the nation froze and stared at the crumpled parchment held between his shaking hands. He had assumed that it was perhaps a letter from his incompetent Minister of Magic or something of that sort but... Whoever sent it certainly knew of his former status as Albion, which wasn't common knowledge. Only his mother and brothers (and France) know about his former name.

The message mentioned another letter. He picked up the discarded paper and watched as a familiar old letter fell out of it.

Stupefied, he watched it fall. Whoever sent him this, is definitely wasn't Scotland!

That brute would rather hang himself than invite him to the school on his grounds! Scotland, as he's said before, didn't care Hogwarts was neutral territory; he didn't want England's eyebrows anywhere near it!

The magic wielder picked it up.

Whoever send the letters, they certainly had guts and knowledge. His eyes sharpened into cold emeralds, ones that have been locked away since the Wizarding War.

He was going to this meeting to learn whether those guts and knowledge were dangerous to him and his loved ones. He had to. Because America and Sealand would be so annoying if they got hurt. He'd hear the complaining all the way from Britain!

England left the room with a strength in his steps and eyes that burned in determination. The letters were clutched in his hands, and we could just make out what was written on them.

 _Mr A. Kirkland_

 _The Study_

 _Far Winging Mansion_

 _London_

 _England_


	2. Letters from someone, Portugal

He stomped down the streets of his beloved Lisbon, an uncharacteristic sneer on his face. He might've made one or two of his little girls squeak and run away, but Portugal didn't really care for once.

The usually easy going and composed nation had just gotten back from a small 'meet up' with Spain, and he wasn't happy. Not one bit. Instead of talking about economy or food or football that Spaniard had just babbled on and on (after he had gotten over his initial shyness) about how 'cute and adorable Romano was and why won't he looooovvveeeee meeee?'

He snorted and shook his head. Portugal honestly found it all disgusting. His 'brother's' love for the combustive Italian was hilarious on a good day and plain annoying on a bad one.

He didn't get the Italian and his shitty personality and he got his brother and _his_ shitier personality even less. If those dumbasses liked each other, then they should show it and stop pulling him into their drama!

He took a deep sigh and tried to school his features. Well tomatoes and sauce, it wasn't working.

The warm nation groaned and looking around in hopes of finding something to cool his head. He spotted a small ice cream stand with barely any business and shrugged. Better than nothing.

Portugal bought himself a cherry and grape ice cream and sat down in a nearby bench. It was in the shade, so at least he and the cold balls of sweetness wouldn't melt that early. Not that he would; Portugal got used to the blistering summer heat sometimes in the early years.

He smiled slightly, ignoring the jealousy and hurt building in his stomach, and looked around at his beautiful country and beautiful people. The Iberian sighed content to stay where he was. If only he could, then he wouldn't have to meet up with his brother and other annoying nations.

Portugal hummed, eyes closed, and felt the warm summer air caress his face like it would to one of his children. Yes, the wind, it was one of the things that would never judge him or his choices. It would never be afraid of him...

He heard a strangled squawking noise that made him jump and spill his ice cream over his shirt. He swore under his breath and grabbed a napkin from a helpful passerby.

As he dabbed at the stain he glared at the bird. She had a smug look in her eyes, a look he likened to Romano's while Spain talked about him. He sneered.

Stupid bird.

The bird snapped at him haughtily and he flinched. Jesus, what was a bird doing out so early anyway? And in summer? Wait, more importantly, in Portugal?

He stared at the bird a little creeped out. That was when he noticed the letter held tightly in its sharp, sharp claws.

"What're you doing with letters? This is the modern age you know." Unfortunately, it was the truth. No more setting sail for knowledge and gold. Now all you needed to do was sit down and go on Google.

The owl must've agreed; she huffed, rolled her eyes and stuck out her leg. Realising what she wanted, the former explorer tentatively took the letters.

As soon as he touched the the bird shot off, leaving him in the dust coughing out feathers.

"What the hell was that?" He wondered and pried a feather from his jacket.

The brunet tore open the letters and raised an eyebrow at another letter that fell through. The envelope was rather interesting to say the least, with a nice expensive seal on old parchment. The words written on them were even more so. He wondered how they knew his exact location and his human name, but chalked it up to his friend England trying to pull something. That man was probably bored, and last he heard the Brit had something in his country with owls.

He ignored the fancy envelope for now and read the letter.

 _Dear Portugal,_

 _Please go to the Leakey Cauldron in London, England today with everything you need packed with you. Be prepared for at least a year, since this will be quite a journey. When you arrive, request to go to the private room where you'll meet other nations, your British friend included._

 _I suggest you go, this is a one time offer after all. It'll be fun, and you'll be able to escape from Spain, Romano and all your little worries for a long while. You might even learn something new!_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Someone whom you do not know_

"How weird," he muttered. This seemed fishy. Well, it seemed a lot of things (most of which were not nice), but Portugal was curious. And when he was curious, he usually got to the bottom of things.

So he would go to this Leakey Cauldron (weird name... He wouldn't be surprised if England named it) and he would meet with these other nations. Besides, a year without Spain or Romano? That seemed like fun!

Grinning, the explorer jumped up from his seat and headed home. He hummed an old cheerful tune under his breath. His citizens might've stared at him because of that, but he didn't really care.


	3. Letters from someone, Molossia

Screw Nevada. Screw the deserts. Screw everything about this shitty state! The American micronation growled and dug his fingers under the hard soil. Oh he hoped he managed to grow something here. It would be a real shame if he didn't.

The self declared nation sighed and grabbed a small shovel from somewhere there and a watering hose from over there. He sprayed a bit of water on his digging place to soften it up. He scowled slightly, but it was much softer than his usual one. He put it down and started to dig, a small bag of seeds sitting next to him.

Just like Nevada, America was annoying overall. He meant the personification, though the people could be pretty damn annoying when they want to be.

Now don't get him wrong, he respected they guy and lived him like a big brother, but sometimes the blond could be so damn annoying! That smile he always had pissed Molossia off to no end; how could he be so—so free with his feelings? Molossia could barely express how much he liked to garden to people, but America could just go up to them and tell them that. And they would believe him! And believe Molossia? Yeah, not so much.

But, he supposed as he put the shovel aside and grabbed the seeds, America was wearing a mask too. A mask of the fool who couldn't do anything; he had almost everyone played. But Molossia didn't really get why America still had that mask when he was a superpower. Everyone just made fun of him because of it.

After he put the seeds in the hole he started to return the dirt to its original space.

America taught him that if you had a mask, people would only see what you wanted the to see. Sure, they'd hate you if you had a shitty mask personality, but some things had to be done to protect yourself. And both Molossia and America had been protecting themselves since they were young.

Still, it can get annoying when he has to remind himself that America is a mask his brother puts up. But it's hilarious to see everyone falling for it. Even that shitty Brit. But what can he say? Brits are idiots. Except for Sealand. That midget was adorable and stubborn as a mule.

Speaking of the kid, he remembered Sealand hadn't called in quite some while to inform everyone about the next MARNA meeting. He frowned, worry flickering behind his shades. He hoped the kid was fine; usually he called every few weeks.

Molossia groaned, job done, and grabbed a water bottle to drink from. He was surprised when his puppy, Chomchom, ran up to him with something in his mouth.

"Oh? Whacha got there, pup?" He noticed the thing was, in fact, a living breathing terrified owl. "Woa, let the owl go dude!" He grabbed a newspaper from his pocket and smacked his little pup with it. He blinked his large black eyes and loosened his jaw.

The bird snapped at them with her beak and flew away, leaving behind a thick envelope.

"What was the about?" He picked up the letters. "This ain't the middle ages right?" His adorable lil' dog barked with his tail wagging excitedly.

Bemused, he opened the envelope revealing another separate one and a letter. His eyes shot up. How the hell did they know his name and where he was at? Suspicious if you ask him.

He flipped open the other letter and began to read.

 _Dear Molossia,_

 _Head over to London and go to a pub called the Leakey Cauldron. Pack enough stuff for a year and don't tell anyone where you're going. You'll get your explanation there._

 _It'll be fun and full of adventures! The other micronations will also be going so no need to worry about being alone!_

 _Sincerely,_

 _A friendly stranger_

He frowned. "What do you make of this, pup? Looks like fun right?" His pup jumped around like the hyperactive puppy he was.

"Well, we might as well go since the gang is going." He stood up and stretched, before heading inside to pack. He glanced at the other envelope and frowned. He better get the answers he wanted.

 _Mr A. Jones_

 _The Garden_

 _Molossia_

 _Nevada_

 _United States of America_


	4. Letters from someone, Egypt

As the other nations received letters, Egypt was leisurely reading an ancient scroll as men and women ran around like chickens without their heads chased by a mummy.

In truth, he was supposed to keep watch over the Curse Breakers from England and France, but he doubted the mummy would actually hurt them.

... Much.

Either way, its their fault they decided to play with his mother's old tombs. It would teach them to be more discreet and careful. If they were, they would've noticed him nabbing the scroll and releasing the mummy.

He eyed the scroll, humming in thought. What his mother wrote was most interesting indeed. So every nation in the world (as long as they had inhabitants) had magic similar to his and the Magic Trio's own? That would be catastrophic if other nations found out.

He stopped for a moment to think about Greece summoning cats and enlarging them and Turkey adding a kick to his attacks. And their fights... He grimaced. They were already bad enough without magic; he couldn't even begin to comprehend how they would be with it.

He would just hope that for the time being their magic remained dormant. For a long time.

A shiver crawled up his spine; something foreboding made his magic shudder and thrum with power. He knew something was going to happen.

And it did. Surprisingly, a barn owl swooped into the catacombs — ignoring the frantic humans as she did — and landed on his shoulder. She looked a little ruffled, so he ran a finger through her feathers. She purred and nudged her leg towards him.

He blinked. How curious. Was England perhaps sending him a letter? Now why would he do that instead of popping in like he usually does?

Curious, he grabbed the letter from her leg and watched as she flew off. Somewhere to his left a Brit shouted but he ignored it.

He ripped open the envelope with a curious little smile, catching the envelope and parchment that fell out. He glanced at the fancy letter, eyebrows raising when he read the simple words on it.

 _Mr G. M. Hassan_

 _Pharaoh's Chambers_

 _Forbidden Catacombs_

 _Egypt_

It was strange how it knew his location, and more importantly his human name. He chalked it up to England trying to pull a prank.

He flipped open the parchment, raising an eyebrow at the flowery, and more importantly feminine, scrip. This wasn't England's handwriting.

 _Dear Egypt,_

 _I ask of you a favour. Go to the Leakey Cauldron in London and request a private room. A lot of other nations will be there as well, and you'll be going on a fun filled adventure!_

 _Or mostly fun filled. You'll learn a lot as well, and probably almost die a few dozen times. And you'll get a break from Greece and Turkey._

 _If you decide to go pack for a year and don't tell anyone of your whereabouts! It's very important to the plot that you speak of this to absolutely no one._

 _Sincerely,_

 _An old friend_

A friend huh? He frowned. Yes, he had to admit that the writing was similar to someone he knew, but that someone he knew was long dead. Or rather, faded. He sighed, thinking of the blond Brit. Does this have something to do with him? He wouldn't exactly be surprised...

While Egypt was pondering about that, a redheaded Curse Breaker managed to give the mummy a slip. He panted leaning against a wall when he noticed the African nation.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be here! You need to leave, there's a mummy on the loose!" Egypt jumped at the British accent, finding it ironic that when he thinks of a Brit, a Brit appears.

He chuckled, turning to the man. Bill Weasley frowned at him, red faced from all the running he did. Speaking of running, that man really should go an help his friends.

The redhead noticed the letters in his hands and Egypt watched as his eyes widened. "That's a—!" He gaped, pointing to the fancy letter with his human name on it. "Your not supposed to have that! You're too old!"

Offended, the magic wielder sent him a dirty look. "It's been fun, but you just ruined my mood. Farewell, and hope we do not meet again." He warned Bill and disappeared in a plume of smoke.

The wizard coughed, waving his hands around to get rid of the smoke. When he opened his eyes, the strange man and the Hogwarts letter were gone.

Frowning, he looked around. A friend of his screamed and he remembered the mummy. He groaned and pushed the thought of strange Egyptians that disappear in smoke to the back of his mind as he rushed to help his friends.

It was probably unimportant anyway.


End file.
